


I Can't Quit You Baby (eng)

by leotart



Category: David Bowie (Musician), Led Zeppelin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:35:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9604286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leotart/pseuds/leotart
Summary: 1968. Jimmy Page and his loyal associate Peter Grant are searching for the singer for a new yet unnamed band. In Robert Plant both Jimmy and Peter find so much more than just his voice. The whole thing revives Jimmy's memory of someone he used to know.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [I Can't Quit You Baby (rus)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9814517) by [leotart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leotart/pseuds/leotart). 



> Hi there! So it's basically Jimbert, but with a few hints of Robert Plant/Peter Grant and also some Jimmy Page/David Bowie flashbacks. It's supposed to have two more parts, in which some storylines will develop. The second part is currently a work in progress, and the third part is in the phase of ideas. It probably contains tons of cliches, 'cause I don't normally read much fanfiction and it's my first fic in ages, but some things have inspired me recently, and I decided to give it a try. English is not my first language, so don't judge too harsh anyway. If you like it, please, do tell! It may stimulate me to work on the sequel.

Jimmy Page ran out of luck. He wanted to form his own band. There were only two members so far: Jimmy himself on guitar (no more of a sidekick act, he decided) and Peter 'Gee' Grant as their manager. From his time as a studio musician, Jimmy knew a pretty good bassist who also doubled as a kick-ass keyboard player. John Paul Jones was a multi-skilled arranger, which meant he, just like Brian Jones, could exorcise melodic sounds from any instrument imaginable. And just like Jimmy, he wanted to express himself in a pure act of creation without the harsh limits of the studio.

Jimmy knew he could count on his old pal, and John would come if called. But that was only half of the band. Jimmy needed a drummer. In an ideal world that would be Keith Moon, but he was already taken. That meant Jimmy needed someone like Keith Moon, only better (and preferably much calmer, but if he was only granted one wish, Jimmy would prefer "better"). He also needed a singer. Badly. It would be so much easier if Jimmy or John could sing, but hey - you can't be good at everything.

Searching for a singer was remarkably unfortunate. Everyone who fit Jimmy's specific requirements had already been taken, and the small number that remained (it was like they were doing this just to piss him off) seemed to flow away from him. It was understandable. The Yardbirds name had been unworthy of anyone's trust by that time, even if they were "New". After setting Eric and Jeff free this chicken house of a band started to rot. And by the time Jimmy, full of strength and inspiration, finally took up lead guitar, the band had split for good. But some contract obligations were still unfulfilled, and it was his (and also Peter's) problem now. The New Yardbirds (Jimmy wrote the additional word on freshly printed posters himself) was a working title; he would change it as soon as he found something more epic, something that wouldn't be associated with a lead balloon.

***

Days of unfortunate searching turned into weeks, and Jimmy felt more and more desperate. He even started thinking of calling the whole thing off, pay the studio from his own savings and put his energy into something more productive. It was one of these miserable days when he received a phone call from Terry Reid - the last singer Jimmy had asked to join his band. Maybe he changed his mind? But Terry just wanted Jimmy to check out Band of Joy, who were scheduled to play at some godforsaken college in Birmingham.

"Their singer, Plant. Name's Robert, I think. Believe me, mate, he's the one you're looking for. He's been singing for a few years. Amazing voice, but he hasn't got signed by anyone yet. You definitely should check him out." Terry sounded rather confident, but Jimmy was not so sure of anything anymore.

"What does he look like?" Jimmy asked anyway. Someone taught him once that form is as important as content, and one without the other doesn't lead to harmony.

If Terry was surprised by the question, his voice didn't show it. "Like a Greek god."

 _I hope it's not Hephaestus._ Jimmy didn't vocalize his bitter reply, just thanked Terry for his help and said that he and Peter would attend the gig.

***

At the assigned day and time Page and Grant reached their destination, but the front door of the college was locked for some reason. Jimmy started to think this was a bad idea. When a slight knock of Jimmy's knuckles on the back door produced zero effect, Peter started to systematically pound the wooden surface with his massive fists. Slender planks of wood weren't meant to survive this. But it was saved from its doom by an odd-looking bloke who suddenly unlocked it.

He was half a head taller than Jimmy (who was not small either, but looked rather subtle and even fragile), and half a head smaller than six-foot-tall Peter. But it could be the bush of blond curls - a pretty frame to a pretty face - that gave him extra height and also a startling resemblance to a large dandelion. He hardly looked eighteen years old. He wore the most psychedelic patterned and colored clothes, which looked like they belonged to someone else (and that someone was a woman, because every piece was way too tight to be described as decent). And also a whole lotta cheap beads and bracelets, which were a fashion disaster combined with his clothes. His sky-blue eyes showed a glimpse of fear at the sight of Peter's frightful figure. Grant lowered his fist, which was raised for a while as he absorbed the colorful lad with his eyes. The lad switched his attention to the less frightening Jimmy, who clearly looked more interesting to him - a quick apprising glance from head to toe seemed to capture every little detail. Maybe his sight was compromised because of twilight, but Jimmy could swear the lad was using make-up (or maybe it was a natural rush of blood to his cheeks when he saw the newcomers). Still silent, the lad took a long drag of a joint jammed between his fingers (covered with a wide range of big and explicitly tasteless rings) and fled away into the darkness of the building.

Peter was suspiciously excited. "She's all right, ain't she?"

Jimmy decided not to disappoint his mate and just grinned. "Oh, Gee."

***

It wasn't hard to find the stage; they just followed the muffled sound of voices humming from the insides of the building. In just a couple minutes they reached an entrance to the gym filled with the odor of unwashed bodies and pot. There was an improvised platform where musicians tuned their instruments with a few dozen hippie students crowded around, but no sign of a singer so far. Peter started to clear a way for them to the stage. There was no need for him to expend extra effort; he just moved forward, and everyone in the sight of his giant walrus-like figure split right away. Jimmy followed with a smile of mixed feelings - partly shy, partly self-content. Grant was terrifying but useful. Together they were quite a couple - just like Robin Hood and father Took.

When they reached the stage, they saw that ridiculous flower child who opened the door for them. With quite expressive gesticulation the lad chatted to a couple of cute-looking girls (they laughed till they cried and flirted with him intensely), but he threw a quick glance at Jimmy as he walked nearby.

Finally, the band finished tuning and started to play something Jimmy recognized as the intro to "For What It's Worth" by Buffalo Springfield. The stoned crowd cheered discordantly. The musicians hit the notes, but that was it. Anyhow, Jimmy didn't come for them. There still wasn't any sign of a singer. Jimmy crossed his hands on his chest and frowned.

And then the colorful blond bloke raised his index finger up, like he was giving girls a sign to shut up and listen to the music. He took one last drag from his joint and tossed it on the floor, then stepped on it with the high heel of his snake-skin boot. With a wide step of his straight, long legs he flew up on the stage, took the mike with one hand while winding its wire on another. And then he sang.

Although to call the sounds that came out of Robert's mouth (by the time Jimmy had figured it was him) singing was a bit of an understatement. That word suddenly became too dull and simply unable to describe the countless range of sounds he made. He yelled hysterically, screamed acutely, cried furiously; he groaned, moaned and whimpered quite explicitly; he begged for something fiercely (and anyone in that gym would give him anything he asked for); he also howled, yelped and even meowed. ("For What It's Worth" was followed by "Hey Joe"). He raved, tossing up his mane of golden curls glowing in the lone spotlight, and curved in epileptic convulsions. He seduced and hypnotized, making you forget where or even who you were without any drugs. He clearly never studied vocals, because he used his throat and not his diaphragm (Jimmy noticed that almost unconsciously), but it didn't matter at all. On the contrary, classic training would certainly ruin him. He was a male version of Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix's guitar given vocals. This had to be how gold-diggers felt after a long day of washing tons of dirt and finally finding a fist-sized piece of pure gold. 

Jimmy found his singer.

***

Jimmy's pale face with small but balanced features was half closed behind the dark wave of long pre-Raphaelite locks. But even under this natural curtain not a single muscle gave away any bit of the tempest of feelings roaring inside. It was only his dark green eyes that shone with new light, each one containing a tiny reflection of Robert.  
Suddenly Jimmy remembered Peter was also there. By that time Peter must've realized, it wasn't a bird growling in front of them. Jimmy looked at him discreetly. Peter's small, but bright grey eyes were chained to the figure on the stage. Normally the piercing look of his eyes hidden in the depths of his enormous bearded face would drill a metaphoric burning hole through the opponent, but now his eyes were blurry, his mouth opened a little. Jimmy never saw Grant so... inspired.

Jimmy looked back at the stage. After "Hey Joe" the band started to play "Somebody to Love" by Jefferson Airplane. Robert outdid Grace Slick herself. Come on, he was better than anyone, and that was true. But wait a minute, Terry had said that Plant had been singing for a few years now. And Jimmy, who knew everyone in this business, had never heard of him? Why hadn't anyone discovered him yet, polished that crazy diamond, proposed the most unfair contract deal to him, and earned tons of money on platinum album sales? Why hadn't his pretty face been looking from every window of every record store and from every concert bill yet? Why the hell had Jeff preferred that Scotsman?! If Robert had started to perform two or three years ago, by that time he should have been already tired from fame and snorting a line of coke from the back of some tart in some ridiculously luxurious hotel somewhere on the West Coast. And yet he was here in the middle of bloody English nowhere, casting pearls in front of a bunch of some stoned hippie trash, making them believe he desperately craved somebody to love with the power of his astounding voice. It was too good to be true.

There had to be something wrong with him. Maybe he had terrible personality that made it impossible to work with him? Just like Jeff, or even worse. _That must be it,_ Jimmy thought. It was truly remarkable how quickly his euphoric joy turned to the good old gloom without any outside influence.

"Come on, Gee, let's go." He pulled Peter by the sleeve. "I've got everything I wanted to know".

Grant needed a few extra pokes and pinches before he woke up from the trance he'd been driven into by the golden haired siren named Robert.

"D-don't you wanna stay?" Peter sounded like he was a child and Jimmy took his candy away, which was particularly weird coming from a man of such monumental proportions.

Jimmy shook his head with his lips pursed, turned around and started making his way to the exit. Peter rushed ahead of him to clear a path through the crowd of mellow hippies. He kept turning his giant head around to throw a quick glance at the stage every now and again.

It was raining cats and dogs outside. Jimmy raised the collar of his coat, ruffled up and headed to the car. He hadn't felt this low for a very long time.

***

Two days passed. Jimmy mostly lay on his couch smoking one cigarette after another. He lit one cigarette, just to forget about it instantly, sucked deep into the whirlwind of his dark thoughts, until the pile of ash landed on his chest. Jimmy cursed, swiped the ash down on the floor and lit the next cigarette. The fact that he didn't eat anything was not unusual. Maintaining biological functions always came secondary to achieving creative tasks. If Peter didn't take care of Jimmy's meals (a role he took voluntarily), his daily ration would probably narrow to coffee and cigarettes. But he didn't touch his guitars after that Band of Joy gig, and that was a signal that something was unmistakably wrong.

Finally, on the third day Jimmy woke up from his misery and decided to act. He stood up from the couch, reached the phone and made several calls. Connections are everything, and Jimmy had plenty of them. The last person he called was Peter, Jimmy dictated the address to him with specific instructions. The manager's voice on the other side bloomed with cheer - perhaps, he was glad, that Jimmy had finally come to his senses, or maybe the guitarist's request didn't leave him indifferent.

***

Like some Byronic character, Jimmy lived alone in a solitary boathouse on the riverside of Thames. Jimmy liked two things about his home: the seclusion of it and that it used to belong to Aleister Crowley. Jimmy considered himself a Crowley follower and collected everything he could find on the subject, starting with books and Tarot decks and finishing with houses (after guitar-playing started to pay off).

Jimmy gave his living room a critical look. He emptied an ashtray to the window and wiped a pile of ash under the carpet with the nose of his lacquered shoe. He stared at his own reflection in a mirror in the antique wooden frame. With his dark locks streaming down his shoulders he looked as if he was just posing for Gabriel Rossetti. His eyes went lower - a flower-patterned scarf wrapped around his neck several times, checked buttoned sweater-vest (Jimmy was always cold), white artist's blouse with wide sleeves which narrowed on his wrists and lilac velvet flares. Jimmy looked into the eyes of his own reflection. He couldn't predict he would be that nervous.

Jimmy never was a shy person. There just wasn't anything theatrical about simply walking to a girl you liked and starting a conversation (and Jimmy loved dramatic effects, there was no doubt about that). He and Peter had designed a whole system: if Jimmy noticed some girl ogling him at a concert or after-party and the feeling was mutual, he played cool for the rest of the evening, but gave Peter a sign. Grant followed her and brought her to Jimmy's place, where he greeted her fully-armed with his charms. There was nothing violent about his little games (except for the kidnapping). He never lay a finger on any of the girls (if they weren't asking for it), and they were always free to go if they didn't like it. They all stayed.

Jimmy didn't know why he thought of Robert the same way he thought about all these girls. Jimmy also didn't know why he just ordered Grant to kidnap Robert and bring him to his place.

***

About half an hour later Jimmy heard the sound of an engine getting closer from outside. Hidden behind the curtain, Jimmy looked out the window. Grant's van reached the main entrance. Peter heavily slid down from the driver's seat, but instead of walking to the back door, he went around the front of the vehicle, opened the door of the passenger seat and stretched out a hand with a bow that even could be described as gracious. Robert took his hand and jumped out with natural ease. Jimmy's brow went up in bewilderment. Peter slammed the door and humbly (Jimmy had never seen Grant doing anything humbly) offered Robert his hand as a parting gesture. Robert laughed and hugged him instead (it required him to rise on his toes). Grant was glowing from the inside.

"Bye, Gee!" Robert headed to the front door. Jimmy immediately stepped aside from the window. The pounding sound of his heartbeat synchronized with Robert's knocking on the door. At first Jimmy didn't realize he should open it. But eventually he went to the door and let Robert in.

***

Robert wore the same snake-skin boots, really tight blue jeans, and suspiciously feminine white top leaving his bare chest in full display (although it wasn't really warm outside). A brown jacket with fake white fur was tossed on his wide shoulders. His rings, pearls and all were also there. It appeared Robert and Jimmy were the same height after all, but Jimmy hunched a little bit because of the guitar and seemed smaller in general. Robert's healthy look and straight posture gave an impression he preferred to spend a lot of time outdoors as a child, while Jimmy's aristocratic angularity and paleness revealed his bad habits and a tendency to hermitage.

"Good morning!" Robert said with noticeable Black Country accent and the widest of smiles. "Robert Anthony Plant." He offered Jimmy a hand and continued. "Well, that's what I call a house! Do you live here alone? I recognized your mate right away. There aren't two of them, are they?" He laughed. "Why did you leave so early that night? Although I can understand. Not everyone can handle me singing. But why did you invite me to your place? Your friend told me you were a guitarist. What do you play?"

"James Patrick Page." Jimmy shook Robert's hand. He wasn't sure which question to answer first. But Robert had already been looking somewhere behind him.

"I'll be damned! Is this the first edition of 'The Fellowship of the Ring'?!" He rushed to the bookcase that occupied the whole wall, nearly pushing Jimmy aside, took the book and ran through its pages with such enthusiasm Jimmy thought he might rip it off. Jimmy couldn't remember where the book had come from. Maybe it was a birthday or Christmas present from someone who didn't know him that well, or maybe it had been here when he bought the house. He tried to read it once, but the story put him to sleep. Jimmy preferred stories where good and evil weren't distinguished so strictly.

"You can have it, if you want." Jimmy heard himself from afar, as if all of it was happening in a dream.

"Really? Oh my gosh, thank you so much!" Robert practically shone from gratitude, and Jimmy's heart warmed a little.

***

Fifteen minutes later Robert was still blabbing about Tolkien. Jimmy listened, not to the exact words, but to the music of his voice. He was almost bluntly eyeing his guest. Robert was too beautiful to be human, although while possessing an elven appearance, he talked and behaved like a naive hobbit, but that precise combination embodied the lion's share of his charm.

Eventually Robert came to his senses.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm not letting you get a word in, Jim. Can I call you Jim? I'm always like that. You're welcome to interrupt. I'll be prattling till dawn otherwise."

Jimmy waited for a few moments, but it seemed that there truly was a pause in this dialogue (although usually it requires two people for a dialogue). Robert looked slightly ashamed.

"Everyone calls me Jimmy."

"Oh? How old are you?" Robert obviously wasn't capable of preserving silence.

"Twenty-four. And you?"

"I'm turning twenty in August. I'm a Leo. And you? Oh, wait! Let me guess! A Virgo? Scorpio? Aquarius?"

Jimmy skipped the last row of questions. Twenty years old! And he still wasn't signed:

"Jimmy?" Robert looked into Jimmy's face with worried expression. "Are you all right?"

"What? Oh, yeah," Jimmy switched back on. "Hey, where are my manners? Why don't you sit down and make yourself comfortable?" He made a wide gesture towards the couch. "Can I get you anything? Whiskey? Coke? Whiskey and Coke?"

"Do you have any tea?" asked Robert, crawling on the couch and throwing down his jacket. "With a slice of lemon, maybe?"

"Erm: Not sure, but I'll check." Jimmy headed to the kitchen.

"It would be lovely if you added a couple of spoonfuls of honey. Very good for the throat," murmured Robert.

Jimmy didn't have any tea. He didn't have lemons or honey either. But he found a couple of bottles of ale in the fridge, and Robert didn't mind about that.

***

Jimmy sat on the couch near Robert. They opened dark glass bottles and each took a sip. Jimmy decided to start from the beginning.

"I don't know if you heard of them, but I played the guitar for The Yardbirds." Jimmy paused. Robert stayed silent.

"'For Your Love'? 'Heart Full of Soul'? 'Shape of Things'?" Jimmy hadn't taken part in recording any of these particular hits, but he was eager to see a glimpse of recognition in Robert's eyes. Nothing.

The next moment Robert burst with laughter. Jimmy raised an eyebrow.

"You should've seen your face! Of course, I heard of The Yardbirds. I own all of your albums. You did that thing with a bow. Loved it!"

Jimmy smiled with the corner of his mouth. _That thing with a bow._ A technique of playing the guitar with the violin bow Jimmy borrowed from a fellow session man and developed to perfection, so it became his thing.

"Thanks." Jimmy continued. "But the band split up. Well, technically, it's only me now".

"I'm sorry to hear that." There was genuine compassion in Robert's voice.

"Yeah, but I decided to form a new band under the same title. Or maybe we'll come up with something else, I'm not sure yet. I know a bass player, but I can't find a drummer and a singer. You were recommended to me."

"But you left so early," Robert went sad at once, reviving that memory. "Why?"

"That's the reason I called you here," Jimmy decided to stay silent about the whole kidnapping idea, because it had clearly gone wrong at some point. "You were amazing".

Robert went red as a poppy. "Really?" 

"Hell yeah! Your singing is the best thing I've ever heard, and I'd worked as a studio musician for a few years before The Yardbirds, so trust me."

"Thank you." Robert lowered his eyes, looking embarrassed. Jimmy noticed the impressive length of his eyelashes. The fact that Robert hadn't realized how good he was made him even more adorable (if that was even possible).

"You know, I'm not quite sure if I should tell you this now, but I thought that there might be something wrong with you," Jimmy blurted out.

Robert looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"I'm sorry, but you said yourself that you're almost twenty years old. Although: how long have you been singing?" Jimmy realized that he may have rushed to conclusions.

"Since I was fifteen. Since I first heard Elvis, all I ever wanted was to sing. When I was a child I used to hide behind the curtain and tried to mimic his voice. You know, there was that special sound: But I talk too much again." Robert blushed.

Jimmy remembered the first time he heard 'Heartbreak Hotel' on the radio and how it changed his life. That song changed the world.

"No-no, please, continue! I'm very interested."

And they talked about Elvis. Same way their father's generation had been united by war, they were united by music. They talked about bands and musicians they liked, and Jimmy found out with great joy that Robert shared his diverse taste in music and even completed it in some ways.

"I know a bloke. Well, he's my best mate John actually. He's a kick-ass drummer. I think he will suit your purpose," said Robert. "Although his bride forbade him to play after he knocked her up. But he won't refuse if there's a chance to make some money."

"My bass player's name is also John. We should come up with nicknames for them or something. But I'll set an audition for this mate of yours. I trust your choice." Jimmy meant that.

"Does this mean you no longer think there's something wrong with me?" Robert asked playfully. If he wasn't a bloke Jimmy would've thought he was flirting with him. Or maybe he was?..

"Consider yourself on probation." Jimmy joked.

"But still," Robert continued in a more serious tone. "You never said why you thought that".

"I guess I just couldn't imagine how someone with your talents was still not famous after five years of performing," Jimmy said plainly.

"Not everyone shares your opinion," Robert said, sounding sad again. "One time the manager kicked me out of the band. He said I'm a shitty singer." Jimmy couldn't believe his ears. "So I created a band with the same title just to piss him off," Robert continued with a smile. "My parents kicked me out when I was sixteen, 'cause I didn't want to be an accountant. I lived at John's at first, but then I came to live with the commune." (Well, that explained a lot). "All I ever wanted was to sing," he repeated. "Music never brought me much money, but it never bothered me, you know. I always thought it's better to die on the road doing what you truly love and what makes you happy instead of selling out and wasting your life."

Jimmy couldn't agree more (although his circumstances were much more bearable).

"Wait!" Jimmy jumped up from his seat and rushed into another room. He returned with a twelve-string acoustic guitar. "You know that song, right?"

Jimmy settled down on the couch with the guitar. His long thin fingers touched the strings extracting a melancholic intro to a beautiful ballad. Sparkles of joy danced in Robert's eyes. He momentarily caught up with the motive. Apparently, Robert thought repetition of certain words was for the benefit of the song. And so it was.

***

When the echo of the last chord faded away, they both realized something magical had happened. They never performed together, but their improvisation sounded as if they rehearsed for at least a month. They both stayed silent for a little while, each of them afraid to ruin the beauty of the moment. Jimmy carefully set the guitar aside and turned to Robert. The distance between them became smaller during their conversation, now they were nearly touching with their shoulders. Jimmy looked into Robert's face, partly hidden in the halo of blond curls. Big almond-shaped eyes, straight line of nose, high and sharp cheekbones, feline curve of lips. How could anyone ever have an idea he would fit for the job of an accountant? He was meant to be a rock star.

Jimmy almost unconsciously reached his hand and moved a lock of Robert's hair away from his forehead. With the back of his hand Jimmy gently touched his cheek. Robert went slightly pink. He barely breathed looking straight into Jimmy's eyes. Following a sudden impulse, Jimmy leaned forward and kissed Robert on the mouth. Robert kissed him back right away. He kissed in the same manner he sang - steamy, passionately, fiercely. His tongue did some unthinkable things. Jimmy felt dizzy and took a moment to catch a breath.

"I never thought you were:" he whispered.

"I never thought you were either:" echoed Robert. His cheeks were aflame.

The next moment they fell into each other's arms, making out intensely. Their clothes became of no use, and they quickly helped each other to get rid of them. With one quick move Robert stripped off his top and threw it somewhere behind the couch, revealing his athletic torso and muscular arms. _A Greek god indeed,_ Jimmy thought.

While Robert was unbuttoning Jimmy's vest with a speed that gave him away as a professional, Jimmy kissed a dimple on his chin, then he went down to Robert's neck, extracting a moan of pleasure from his mouth. Jimmy went further to his collarbones and then to his chest. He kissed and licked and sucked each of Robert's nipples. Robert's moans grew louder, and his fingers wandered through Jimmy's hair. Jimmy drew a wet line with his tongue down Robert's stomach, to the place where a small island of hair (a few shades darker from his head) disappeared into his jeans. Jimmy unzipped them to discover with certain satisfaction that Robert wasn't wearing anything else underneath. Already hardened and finally freed, Robert's cock was as gorgeous as he was. Jimmy couldn't resist the temptation to put it in his mouth. He had done this before, a long time ago, but according to the noises Robert produced Jimmy figured he still knew how to please a man orally.

"Oh, Jimmy!.. Baby! Yes, it's so good!.." It seemed Robert was about to come, but Jimmy had just started. He stood up, and Robert made a groan of disappointment.

"I'll be right back." Jimmy kissed Robert on the lips and rushed to the bathroom.

Jimmy wasn't ready for such turn of events (well, maybe a little bit), but he never threw away a single thing. He searched through the medicine cabinet to find a bottle of lube and returned to the living room. Robert had already predicted his intentions and turned on his stomach. Jimmy's eyes observed the spectacular view of Robert's rear end. He looked like a living antique sculpture. Jimmy quickly stripped off his trousers and underwear (it was no time to get rid of his wide opened blouse and scarf half unwrapped) and leaned back to Robert, covering his back and shoulders with soft kisses and gently touching the most sacred parts of his body.

"I want you to fuck me," moaned Robert.

Jimmy used lube as intended, and after overcoming natural resistance he slowly eased his way in. Robert groaned with pleasure. Robert felt so tight and warm and good. Jimmy lifted Robert a bit, then they rose on their knees together, and Jimmy began to move slowly. Each push induced a moan of a different key from Robert. Jimmy pressed harder against him, starting to move faster. He just couldn't get enough of Robert, licking an outline of his pierced seashell-like ear, leaving bruising marks of passion on his neck and shoulders, caressing his nipples with his fingertips.

"Oh, Jimmy!.." cried Robert before he came with a thick moan. Jimmy followed him shortly, shaking in orgasmic seizures. They collapsed on the couch and stayed still for a while, recovering their breath. Jimmy wanted to stay inside Robert as long as possible.

Robert idly reached to his jacket lying on the floor, fetched a crumpled pack of cigarettes with a lighter inside, lit one up, dragged on it, and then passed it to Jimmy.

"So, mister Page," asked Robert with a smile, "did I get the job?"

"You're still on probation." Jimmy grinned.

"Oh, bugger! I think I just got screwed!" They both chuckled like a couple of dorks.

***

When Jimmy smiled, his naturally sad and tired face transformed completely. Robert made him smile a lot. He stayed. Jimmy showed him his guitar room, and it took Robert's breath away. He also showed him his vinyl collection (Jimmy started to think he needed to clear a separate room for it). They played a couple of records and sang a couple of songs together. They eventually got hungry, so they called Peter and asked him to bring some take-out for them. They made love again on Jimmy's king sized bed, and it was slower that time, more sensual and tender. They saw each other only for the second time in their lives, but they were both so comfortable, as if they already lived together for a few years.

Jimmy laid on his back with his long dark hair, now quite messy, swept across the pillow. Robert lay on top of him, lazily driving his index finger around Jimmy's rare chest hair, his knees bent, feet swinging back and forth in the air.

"So, I wasn't your first?" Robert broke the blissful silence. There wasn't any jealousy in his question, just natural curiosity.

"There weren't many of them," answered Jimmy shyly.

"How many?" pried Robert. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Only one actually. But I learned quite a lot from him."

"I noticed," Robert giggled. "Maybe I should write him a letter to say thank you?" he continued with the nonsense. "What's his name?"

"David. David Jones," Jimmy's eyes went dim with memories.

"Wow! Is he the one from the Monkees?"

"N-no, the other bloke. I think, he changed his name already to avoid the confusion."

"Why? Is he a musician too? How did you meet him anyway?" Robert's inquiries didn't seem to end.

"A singer. And a blond." Jimmy threw a quick glance at Robert. "It was three, or maybe, four years ago. He came to the studio to record a single with the band he was with at the time. I can't even recall the exact name. Boyish Men? Mannish Boys? Anyway, he was quite good."

"Better than me?" asked Robert with suspicion.

"No one's better than you, I already told you," Jimmy kissed the top of his head. "So, I was helping them with the guitar solo and stuff like that, and it just sort of happened, you know."

"And why did you split up?" Robert pondered for a moment. "You split up, right? He won't come home after work or something?"

"We did. Maybe it would sound strange, but I think it happened because we were too similar. We didn't complete each other:" Jimmy wanted to add "like we do", but thought it would be too soon for confessions like that. He continued: "We only locked horns."

"Is that because he's a Capricorn too?" Robert could explain every aspect of human interactions with the help of astrology.

"In a matter of fact, he is. His birthday is the day before mine," Jimmy was surprised he never acknowledged the fact. "Now I think he was a bit out of his mind. I heard he's given up music and warms the crowd up before T. Rex gigs with pantomime or something. Well, that's what I heard," Jimmy tried to hash up his excessive awareness.

"T. Rex... Are those the ones with the bongos?"

"Yep."

"Oh my."

"But enough of him. What about you?" Jimmy changed the subject in a skillful way.

"And what about me?"

"How long have you been like that?"

"Like what?"

"You know, like that," Jimmy gave Robert a meaningful look.

"Oh. It's not easy to explain really. I guess, for me it doesn't really matter if you're a bird or a bloke as long as I lo:"

He was interrupted by the doorbell. Robert flew out of bed with the speed of a rocket and ran to the window.

"It's Peter with the food!"

He gave Jimmy an impish smirk and went down the stairs, his bare feet made a slopping sound.

"As long as you what?.." asked Jimmy, but Robert didn't hear him anymore.

The front door opened before Peter Grant, revealing a picturesque view of a naked Robert (apart from beads and bracelets). Grant's jaw dropped. Robert rose on his toes, kissed Peter on a hairy cheek, took the bags from his hands and closed the door.


End file.
